I See Fire
by Deslock
Summary: Following the RED mercenaries from the first day they met, this is a story of how nine troubled strangers with a thousand different secrets fight side by side and become the band of brothers we know them as so well today.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

He arrived a day early, so that nobody would see his face.

The man pulled his flat cap lower and kept his head down, making for the entrance like a bat out of hell. He still had not deduced how the mysterious company, known only as TF industries, had found him. He had been, after all, in hiding for the past year. Needless to say, after running into a bit trouble with the law, the man had been rather anxious when a shady representative from the Reliable Excavation and Demolition Corporation had somehow tracked him down.

The representative was been vague at best. He simply explained that his boss, who was also the CEO of RED, was hiring mercenaries to assist in his companies 'demolition operations, among other things.' They initially offered him money, which he had turned down. Then they offered him safety – and a new identity. In fact, the representative had said not even the team he was to be assigned to would need to know anything about him, not even his real name. He would be given a codename, as would his team mates, and all nine men would be advised against getting too friendly, with strict restrictions against sharing too much personal information. "To keep things professional" the representative had said. The man in hiding had remained resistive. What sealed the deal, however, was that the other mercenaries would not even have to see his face. His codename was "The Pyro" and he was allowed, and even encouraged, to wear his gas mask at all times – even during ceasefires. He would not be required to remove it at any time.

And so he had arrived a day early, so that nobody would see his face. The representative informed him that his new uniform and weapon would be waiting for him on base. New weapon? Pyro looked down at his bulking duffle bag. Not necessary.

The 2Fort was not exactly how he had imagined it. It was an old fashioned building, contrasting with the modern ideals of his new employer and it looked rather ill-prepared for war. He gazed up at it from the long wooden bridge which faced the entrance, squinting in the dying sun. He had to be sure to abstain from burning this place the ground too.

Once inside he found a welcoming letter, scrawled in neat, black ink which read;

_Dearest mercenaries,_

_Warmest welcome to your new home, and congratulations – you have made the right decision by joining us here at the Reliable Excavation and Demolition corporation. Supplied here alongside this letter you will find all that you require to live comfortably while stationed here. Any other supplies you may need can be requested for on a weekly bases through my assistant, who will make contact with you shortly. Beside this letter are ten keys, all of which you will see are numbered. Room key 10 is the infirmary and is to remain in the possession of the Medic at all times. The others are your living quarters, each room is identical so as to avoid any feelings of inequality. _

_Enjoy your stay._

_The Administrator_

How chummy, thought Pyro. He looked down on the oak table. There was indeed a line of numbered keys, neatly displayed side by side like little soldiers. He picked up the one number '1' and made his way down the hall with his heavy bag. After dropping his belongings on his bed he left to wander and explore. There were cameras in every hallway, black and hanging from the ceiling like bats, watching the bases every interaction carefully. Pyro felt himself shrinking under those eerie lenses and he tucked his chin into his chest. When he found the supply room, he immediately spotted his home warming present.

The red flame-retardant suit and black gas mask fit perfectly and left everything to the imagination, and he stood admiring his reflection in the mirror on one of the lockers. Not a spot of flesh could be seen. Perfect.

He looked at the shiny new flamethrower curiously. It certainly was nice to look at and would make an exquisite wall-hanging, but he had brought all he needed for his own weapon. Back in his room, he produced two metal poles, a propane tank, several firm bands and a gas pump handle from his duffle bag. Once it had been assembled and adjusted he admired it proudly, but noted something was amiss. Fumbling through his duffle, he found the crushed remnants of the pilot light. He sighed and held it up. He would need to request a new one from the Administrators assistant tomorrow.

The subtle sound of someone strolling passed his room startled him. Pyro wet his lips beneath the mask and slowly approached the door, pressing his ear to it. The footsteps clopped away, heading for the entrance where the keys were sprawled. An intruder? Pyro had been warned about the underhanded methods that the BLU team were likely to use, so it was entirely possible that they would make a move before the fighting had even began. He hadn't prepared himself to be Spy checking so soon, before the rest of his team had even arrived. Rather than picking up his unfinished flamethrower, he picked up the nearest weapon available – a fire axe strapped to the wall – and opened his door.

Pyro stepped out cautiously, wincing as the hinges creaked, and listened intently for any signs of the intruder as his heart pounded in his chest. He heard rattling, as if one of the keys had been picked up, and then the sound of a lighter sparking. A lighter?

Fire.

Pyro raced to the entrance, adrenaline fuelling his legs, and upon arrival he lifted the axe high above his head. The intruder turned, eyes wide like saucers, before jumping out of the way as the axe came swiping down. The head of the weapon sliced through the table like a hot knife through butter and sent oak shards everywhere, and the keys flying.

"Ce qui la baise?!" The man stared at him aghast. A cigarette fell from his lips, leaving a smoky stream floating upwards. "Etes vous fou!?" he demanded, baring his teeth. Pyro's gaze flickered between the intruder and the axe for an awkward moment. The man was wearing a balaclava, so was obviously a Spy, only he was dressed in red and speaking in what Pyro assumed was French. Slowly, the axe lowered and Pyro scratched his arm sheepishly, feeling embarrassed.

"You're our Spy, aren't you?" he asked. Spy blinked wordlessly at him. "… aren't you?"

"What are you saying?" Good, thought Pyro, he could speak English.

"You're not the RED Spy?"

"I cannot understand a word you are saying," Spy said "But I am going to assume zat you are ze Pyro." He sneered at the blank lenses of the gasmask, his eyes narrowing to slits. "_Well_?"

"Yeah, I'm the Pyro."

"Take zat off, you make no sense with it on." Spy was getting impatient, drumming gloved fingers on his arm.

"No!" Pyro recoiled, grasping the mask "They said I could keep it on!"

"Mon Dieu," Spy pinched the brink of his nose and an exasperated sigh hissed through his teeth. "I cannot understand you, but _fine_, keep ze mask on." He brought out and lit a fresh cigarette. "I am ze Spy, one of your new colleagues. I did not think zat anyone else would be arriving so early." He blew smoke in Pyros face. "You can clean up zis mess you've made," he pointed to the scattered keys which lay in disarray among shards of oak. Spy's demeanour calmed more with every passing second, his blue eyes watching the shorter man carefully. Pyro nodded but didn't move, opting instead to simply push his fingers together and look anywhere but his new colleague. This earned him a nasty look from the Frenchman, who then just seemed to vanish into thin air.

"Wow!" Pyro spun around "Where-"

"Fear not," said Spy, remaining cloaked "Zis is just one of the tricks up my sleeve. Trust me when I say, even when you cannot see me" he paused dramatically "_I_ can see _you_." The last part of that sentence was hissed right into Pyros ear and he shuddered as the room fell dead silent. With a man like Spy skulking about, he'd never take his gasmask off again. He scooped the keys up and dumped them on the crinkled welcoming letter before hurrying back to his room.

The morning could not have come soon enough. He'd slept in his suit and mask out of fear and so was drenched in sweat beneath it. But he could not risk a shower yet, not until he could be certain the Spy was not watching him. As Pyro made his way to the main hall he heard an abundance of voices conversing by the entrance, overlapping and at various volumes. The rest of his team must have arrived. He peered around the corner, keeping his stomach pressed up against the wall. He observed a small group gathered around an authoritive looking man, who was barking instructions at them like a drill instructor. Was he the administrator's assistant?

"Atten-_shun_!" the stern looking man marched up to the group before him, though the helmet he wore seemed too big for his head and covered his eyes. It really put a damper on the impressive air he was putting on.

Pyro spotted Spy among the gathered men, his unimpressed, half-lidded gaze watching the loud man in the helmet. Beside Spy was a slim man in a red sox jersey who nudged him with his elbow. "Hey, who is dis guy anyhow?" Spy grimaced and wiped his arm as if the boys touch would infect him if not brushed away. Before he could answer however, the helmet wearer marched over.

"I said at attention, private!" he jabbed a finger into the young man's chest, causing him to scowl. "City boy, _huh_? What's your name short pants?"

"I'm, uh, the Scout-"

"Do you have your tampons stuffed in your ears or do I have a troublemaker in my unit!?"

"Uhh.."

"Speak up, son!" he jabbed his finger again "Are you a pussy? Huh? Is that it!?"

"Wha-no! Hey man, our contract said-"

"I will _not_ tolerate deaf, limp-wristed lilies here, do I make myself clear!?" he swooped in to Scouts face. "Any more wise cracks outta you kiddo, and I'll revoke your weekend pass, understood?!"

"We-we got weekend passes?" Scout scratched his head, having lost track of the topic.

"You must be the Soldier," a tall, black man stepped out of the group before Soldier could continue to rant. "Aye, you're listed as a teammate, no a superior." The man had some kinds of explosive gadget strapped to his vest, so Pyro assumed he was the team's Demolitions man.

"Two wise guys in one platoon, eh? And what the hell's the matter with you, limey?"

"_Limey_? Am from Scotland ye daft bastard!"

Soldier stared at the man's eye-patch. "What? Your eye fall out when you realised your country wasn't even _real_?" Before the others could react, Demoman was on Soldier like gum on velcro and the pair were throwing fists about like a pair of drunken boxers.

"I'll kill ye!"Demo roared as he wrapped his hands around Soldiers throat.

"Not if I kill you _first_!"

"Is dis RED base?" a deep voice rumbled from behind the group and an enormous shadow loomed in the entrance, like a boulder preventing escape. The new arrival was well over six feet tall, and every part of him was huge. Even his gun, which he hauled in his bear like arms, was a mini-gun.

"Yes," Spy answered him "I assume you are ze Heavy weapons man?"

"Nyet," growled the Russian "I am Heavy weapons _guy_." Spy snorted at him. Both Soldier and Demo stopped their fighting to stare over at the hulk, who began to make his way into the hall. "Sasha is tired," he announced "vere do ve sleep?"

"Sasha?" Scout cocked his head.

"Y'all are the last one here, big guy" a stout labourer with a Texan accent approached him. "Last key left is room 9."

"Tank you," heavy took the tiny key in his paw, having to stoop somewhat to retrieve it.

"I'm the Engineer," said the Tex, "but y'all can jus' call me Engie."

"Engie," repeated Heavy "is good to meet you." He walked past the group to find his room but stopped when he noticed Pyro, still peeping round the corner.

"Uh," Pyro stammered "hey?"

"Vhat is leetle man in mask doing?"

"Ze Pyro" said Spy "our resident loon-ball." When the Heavy walked passed him to retreat for the night Pyro stepped out a bit before the group, all of whom where now staring right at him.

"Howdy," Engie broke the uncomfortable tension and stuck his ungloved hand forward as he made his way over "Pyro, was it?" he smiled, his square jaw jutting forward slightly.

"Yeah," Pyro shook his hand gently, as if he would break it if he weren't careful "That's me." Engineer lifted a sandy eyebrow, his mouth remaining a little agape.

"Right…" Engie smiled, clearly unable to understand Pyro for the mask but still trying to be polite. "Well, you ever need any help with anythin' machine-like" he pointed to himself "I'm your man. So y'all come'n find me, ya hear?"

"Machine-like stuff," Pyro nodded "Got it."

"Right," Engie blinked at him and a silence developed again.

"It's, uh, nice to meet you, Engie." Said Pyro.

"Right, well, see ya around!" Deducing that the conversation must have ended, Engineer went passed him for his own room. Pyro watched him go with slumped shoulders. A conversation started up behind him again as more introductions were made, but it all sounded mumbled to him until a voice cleared itself nearby. He jumped, turning to look straight up and into a pair of round spectacles. The wearer's eyes were hidden as the reflection from the bases energy-saving lights caused a bright sheen to cover the lenses. The man's hair was black and neatly set, but it was his white lab coat that gave his codename away.

"I am ze RED team's medic," he said in a German accent. "Come vith me, bitte." Without waiting for Pyro to answer he stalked passed him towards the infirmary. Pyro opted to follow behind, rather than beside the doctor though he had to march to match the man's brisk pace. As they both made their way down the hall, neither spoke. Upon arriving, Medic put on a pair of gloves and picked up a clipboard, clucking his tongue. "So, you ah ze Pyro?" Medic stared at him, ice-blue eyes narrowed.

"Yeah."

The doctor cocked an eyebrow. "I have been informed by ze higha-ups of your, ah, _condition_," he said "I am to undastand zat ze mask does not come off, yes?"

"Yes," said Pyro "Uh, I mean yes that's right, no it doesn't come off." He clarified. The German stared at him with unamused but unvoiced annoyance before jotting something down.

"Zis vill make examining you razher frustrating, if not outright impossible." He continued to scribble down notes "so I suggest zat you don't bozher me until you are villing to be reasonable." He stared over the rim of his glasses like a scolding headmaster. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes…" said Pyro "sorry…"

"I'll assume zat vas compliance." He pointed his pencil to the infirmary doors "you may leave." The older man made no attempt to configure any form of doctor-patient relationship, scowling fiercely at Pyro as he fidgeted uncomfortably. At least the higher ups had made his life easier by telling the doctor themselves.

As Pyro walked down the hall, the speaker above his head screeched loudly and crackled. '_RED team this is your announcer speaking. All mercenaries are to report to the supply room in precisely thirty minutes. Failure to attend will result in an instant dismissal.'_ There was another crackling noise as the announcer logged off. The woman's voice had been stony and harsh, unlike the honeyed tone of the welcoming letter. Twenty-five minutes later Pyro began to make his way down, but fearing tardiness he walked hastily, turning a sharp corner and walking right into the back of someone. The soldier turned, lip curling with distaste.

"And what in Sun Tzu's name are _you_ supposed to be?" Soldier leaned over him. He was far taller, and his shoulder much broader, so when he glowered down at Pyro the shorter man seemed to shrink. He looked raving mad. "Only a coward hides his face, are you a coward, private?"

"No-"

"Well!? You're a pansy? A rifle-dropping coward, is that it? What are you, _French_!?"

"Fack you" Spy sneered, materialising behind them.

"That's it isn't it!?" Solider continued to loom over Pyro. "You're a goddamn Spy! That's why you hide your face from your own teammates. Well, I am ON to you mumbles, so prove you're a man and take that thing off!"

"No! They said I can keep it on!"

"Glad you agree! I knew you wouldn't want to be a white-flag humping frog like Spy over there," he reached up for Pyros mask "let's show him how Americans wear masks – off our faces!"

"Don't!"

"Zat is enough," the Medic appeared at the door beside a rather indignant looking Spy. "Soldier, let go of ze Pyro."

"Butt out, kraut, we Americans are onto you and your kind." his eyes shifted suspiciously between Medic, who stood with his hands on his hips and Spy, who stood with his arms folded. Neither man looked amused.

"As Pyro's doctor, I am telling you zat ze mask cannot come off. He vill be rendered unfit for vork if it does, und you vill cost us a teammate." Medic leered at him "Now, stop being schtupid. Unhand Pyro zis instant." Surprisingly, Soldier complied.

"Docteur," said Spy "will 'e really be harmed if ze mask is removed?"

"I don't know, all I vas told vas zat ve are not allowed to take it from him. He must consent to it, vich he vill not do." They shot Pyro an odd look.

"Thank you," mumbled Pyro "Soldier was going to…" he stopped. They just looked confused at his attempts to communicate. After exchanging glances, both Medic and Spy walked passed him and into the supply room without another word.

"Ve ah going to be late."

Once everyone had arrived, a small television flickered on and a black and white picture displayed a young, pretty woman in spectacles. "Good afternoon RED team, I'm Miss Pauling," she nodded at the camera "I will be speaking with you whenever missions are to be arranged and when battle strategies are to be discussed. Most of what you really need to know was detailed in your contracts, this is just an introductory meeting."

"Pardon me ma'am," Engie spoke up. "When would our first mission happen to be?"

"Good question, I just received the details," she opened an envelope on the screen. "Your first mission will take place tomorrow morning."

"Who are ve keeling?" Heavy, even sitting down, remained at height with the Spy who stood just behind him.

"You'll be killing anyone who enters or tries to enter the base. Your first mission guys, is to defend this place from BLU, while at the same time recovering their intelligence." A few of the men grinned at this, and Demoman swigged from a suspicious looking bottle.

"So like, is there anythin' we ain't allowed to do? Or is it a 'the only rule is there are no rules' type'a gig?" Scout had removed his hat, licked his hand and smoothed down his hair before addressing the television screen.

"Everything should be straight forward enough, if you do anything wrong, you'll soon know about it. Now, for your first mission you are to devise amongst yourselves your plan of action, the Administrator wants to see what you're made of. Any questions?"

"Yeah," said Scout "what you doin' tonight, Miss Pauline?"

"It's Pauling," she corrected "and working. I suggest you all do the same." And then the screen went black. There was an awkward silence as all eyes fell on Scout.

A tall man whose face was obscured by a wide-brimmed bush hat and a pair of aviators looked across at him. "Smooth."

"Alright ladies," Soldier stood and everybody had to supress a groan. "Listen up! We are going to maul those BLU Nancy's back to England with their tea and crumpets up their asses, so I expect you all to be ready for battle by 06:00 hours tomorrow morning!"

"Ze battle does not start until nine, dummkopf." Medic shook his head "Ve should meet around seven thirty to go ovah ze tactics."

"I don't know what 'doom cough' means you goose-stepping, Mein Kampf worshipping sonovabitch, because this is _America_, not Germany!"

Medic firmly planted his palms into the table top and got to his feet so quickly that Pyro thought he meant to leap over the surface for Soldier, who looked pretty pleased with himself. "Hey now," the Engineer put a hand of Medics shoulder and slowly sat him back down "we got less than a day t'come up with a game plan here, boys. So let's leave the fightin' for tomorrow."

"Aye, agreed." Demoman's voice had changed pitch somewhat, and the belch he let out all but confirmed that he was indeed getting stone drunk this early in the day.

"I already found a good spot for some good ol' fashioned Snipin'," said Sniper, his accent Australian. "I'll keep an eye out fer those who can't-"

"WOTCH'YA SAY 'BOUT ME EYE!?" Demo got to his feet, though he wobbled on his drunken legs. "YA DIRTY, CAMPY WEASEL-"

"Bloody hell." Sniper brought his hands up defensively "I wasn't talkin' 'bout yer eye!"

"Ya were _thinkin'_ it!"

Spy brought his palm to his face. "Mon Dieu, you imbeciles are going to get me killed."

"WE DO NOT SPEAK FRENCH IN AMERICA!" roared Soldier. Amongst the bickering Scout caught a glimpse of Pyro twiddling his thumbs, somehow managing to look nervous even with that gas mask on.

"Hey man," Scout leaned over "When ya gonna take the mask off?"

"I-"

"_Scout_." Medic snapped, though he was ignored.

"I mean, ya gonna have'ta at some point, right? Like, if ya get bashed on the head or whatever tomorrow."

"I don't-"

"Cuz I mean, like, if ya start bleedin' from the head all messy and shit then you'll ha-OW!" Scout hissed in pain as Medic nipped him firmly on the ear, steering him away from Pyro like a father might do to a naughty child. "Hey man, what da fuck!?" he squirmed.

"Leave ze Pyro alone." Said Medic "Or I vill chop you up into little pieces and keep you in my fridge, understand?" he let go of Scouts ear, who immediately scuttled backwards.

"You're a freak, doc, ya know dat?"

"Don't make me prove you right, boy." Not another retort was given, and Scout quickly left the hall, mumbling derogatory things regarding the good doctor's nationality.

"Ah you alright?" Medic looked over at Pyro but his expression was not sympathetic, he just looked annoyed again. Pyro nodded. "Gut. Now, zis sorry attempt to devise a strategy has vasted enough of my time. I vill be in ze infirmary if anybody needs me."

"Hey Doc," Engie got to his feet "mind if I come with? I, ah, got somethin' I wanna talk to ya about." As Engie followed Medic out of the supply room he felt a presence shadowing him. "I was hoping to talk to Doc privately, lil' feller."

"I know," said Pyro "I just don't want to stay here with these guys." Although Engie couldn't understand him, he got the jist of what was said and nodded.

"Y'all ain't gonna tell nobody?"

"Couldn't if I tried, apparently."

"Alrighty then, you can tag along." The infirmary was were Pyro could tell Medic would spend most of his time, rather than his own room. He hadn't known the man a day, yet his enthusiasm for his work was bone chilling.

"So, vhat seems to be ze problem?" Medic removed his glasses and produced a little silk handkerchief to wipe them with before placing them back on his nose.

"Well," Engie produced a roll of blueprints as if from nowhere and dropped them on the table. "How would ya feel if I told you that with your help, I could build a machine that could stop the very clutches of death, doc?"

For the first time since he arrived, Medic smiled "Vhy Engineer," he chuckled "You've just earned yourself a partner." Pyro sat on one of the gurneys, swinging his legs. The two egg heads were doing that scientist thing were there is a lot of menacing giggling, much malicious grinning and a bit of silent understanding. After trying and failing for several minutes to wrap his head around the terms the two scheming scientists were using, Pyro headed back to his room. As he lay in bed that night, he slid under his covers and brought his hand up to rest on the fastenings of his mask.

It's not like Spy could see me now, he thought, could he? Sighing, he pulled his hands away. Another night, maybe.

The next day, a lot of ideas were shared, or rather screamed, around the supply room. By the end of the rowdy discussion, some progress had been made.

"Alright, offense!" Soldier pointed at Scout and Pyro "what do we do!?"

"Beat da crap outta them BLUs!" said Scout, patting his aluminium bat in his palm. Pyro nodded, rolling his shoulders back in anticipation.

"Atta boy. Defense!"

"I vill defend bridge, keel _all_ BLU who try to cross!" roared Heavy. He patted Sasha who, as it turns out, was actually his gun.

"I'll head ta the sewers, if any Spy's try'ta sneak up, I'll blow them straight ta hell!" said Demo "cheers!" he swigged vigorously from his scrumpy bottle, staggering back as he did.

"I'll git on over to the supply room, set a sentry up for our intel in a jiffy." Engie nodded. "No BLUs will reach our briefcase, folks, mark ma word." He was holding a chunky wrench in his hand, his face mostly hidden by his hard hat and protective eye wear.

"Do me proud, boys!" Soldier saluted them then turned "Support!?"

"Head to me nest, make lot'sa pink clouds." Sniper nodded "Gotcha."

"I vill flank Heavy, but I vill be ready to assist anyvone injured on ze front lines." Said Medic. "If you need healing, call me."

"And I," Spy grinned "will be back with ze BLU intel in no time." He took a drag of his cigarette, looking smug.

"Let's give 'em hell!" soldier pulled out an entrenching shovel and smacked it off his helmet like a lunatic, but it only succeeded in exciting his team and they all cheered and braced themselves as the announcer started the countdown. As they waited, Pyro felt the excitement swarming through him. It was time to make things burn.

"CHARGE!" The iron gates screeched open and the RED team raced out onto the battlefield.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The boys speed was just astonishing. Scout had boasted that morning about being the quickest man on the team and, thanks largely to also being the skinniest, not many of the older men challenged him on it. But Scout was not just fast, his agility accelerated beyond what should have been physically possible for a human – he was out of sight mere seconds after the battle had started. He kept his bat held firmly above his head and raced forward, spitting threats at his enemies in that Boston accent. He was a blur.

Pyro and Soldier were miles behind for all it mattered. The offence class had agreed to engage on a head to head assault while the defence and support classes got set up at their marks. Soldier was the first man down, likely for being the loudest. A skilful sniper nailed him in the right shoulder "At ease!" Soldier could hear his jeers from his nest, and he grit his teeth.

Pyro paused on his way to the BLU base and turned, unsure if he should ignore him. He ran to Soldier, who was kneeling and already being shot at by the enemy Scouts scattergun. Clouds of dust formed around him, with blood leaking down his arm and staining his jacket a darker red. He lifted his massive rocket launcher and balanced it on his shoulder, blasting the enemy Scout to hell and roaring as blood and guts splattered everywhere. Elsewhere, the RED Sniper got a headshot on the BLU Heavy as he barrelled through the battlements and his mighty gait shook the ground when he fell. The BLU Demoman smashed his scrumpy bottle over the RED Spy's head as he snuck up on him, knife in hand, forcing the Frenchman to decloak and stagger back. Blood soaked through his balaclava and though disoriented, he dodged the BLUs continued assault elegantly, long enough for an opening. He slithered up behind the one eyed man via his blind spot and, using just his hands, snapped the Demoman's neck like a chicken bone.

It was chaos.

Everywhere Pyro looked there was blood, gore and dead bodies littering the battlefield, and in no time he stood just staring in stunned silence until a hand yanked him back into reality. "What in Buddha's cholesterol are you doing, private!?" Soldiers teeth were stained red with blood "This is no time to be ogling - get moving to the BLU base, there's killin' to be done!"

"I-I-"

"Enough chit chat!" Soldier shoved Pyro to the ground and shot a rocket right at the BLU engineer's sentry as it turned its deadly sights on them, before sending another rocket speedily after the inventor himself, who let out a chilling scream as he lay mangled by his tools. "Dominated, grease monkey!" laughed Soldier, causing blood to spittle down his front. He hauled Pyro to his feet again "Get going, maggot!"

Pyro ran for the BLU entrance on unsteady legs, passing the dead BLU Engineer and his own injured Heavy who looked up at him with dazed eyes. He had lost a lot of blood. "Get to briefcase leetle Pyro!" he nodded "do not fail us!" as Pyro ran, he heard Heavy calling for Medic and wondered if he was going to die.

Inside the BLU base, it was far too quiet to be empty. It was an eerie silence, one of being watched by unseen eyes. There was blood on the floor, a grisly, crooked trail and he found his own Scout's bloody bat discarded at the side. Before he could assume the worst, he heard a familiar voice echo from another room.

"Where's ya precious hippo-crates now, huh!?" Pyro rushed to the intel room, finding his Scout standing over the dead BLU Medic, his left eye swelling shut and already the size of a golf ball. "Yeah, how'd ya like _dat_!?"

"Scout!"

"Oh hey, mumbles," Scout began strapping the briefcase onto his back, wincing at some unseen injury. "Lookit dis! No match for us REDS, amiright?!" he lifted his hand for a high-five and his smile spread wide before freezing, his eyes straining. Then, his whole face contorted in pain. The BLU Spy took form behind him, his knife stuck deep into Scouts gut as the boys legs slowly gave in.

"Gentleman," his face was smug and menacing "shall we?" Pyro held his flamethrower up, but he could not roast his enemy without his own Scout burning along with him. He had to make a decision. Spy remained safe behind his human shield, looking amused. Scout was beginning to bleed profusely and Pyro did not have any other weapons within reach, having left his axe at base. There was nothing he could do. He began to panic, hyperventilating behind his mask and creating a horrible wheezing sound through its filter. He didn't know what to do. The briefcase or Scouts life?

There was a short scream as a knife was rammed up and into a lung. The BLU Spy staggered away from Scout as blood began to spill over his lips. Their own RED Spy appeared, although looking worse for wear, and he sneered at his rival. "_Amateur_" Scout crumbled to his knees at the same time the dead BLU did, holding his side as his own Spy leisurely walked passed without even acknowledging either of his teammates. As he passed Pyro, the smell of scrumpy was strong and the back of his balaclava was matted with drying blood.

"M-medic!?" Scout spluttered, his voice barely audible for once. Pyro too, dropped to his knees and held his head in his hands, his chest heaving. Spy, now wearing the briefcase on his back, turned to look at the scene before him. He looked down at them with disgust.

"You're both an embarrassment," he said "just like ze rest of zis _team_." And then he was gone. A few minutes later Medic, himself bloodied and bruised, came rushing in. His glasses were missing and, from the mess of it, his nose was probably broken. He got to work healing Scout when the speakers on the wallscrackled.

"_RED Victory_"

Silence enclosed all, hugging the RED team in its blissful grip. They had done it. Medic, apparently not savouring the success, patched Scout up just enough so that he would not bleed out and angrily instructed him and Pyro to head back to the infirmary immediately. He had more supplies there and healing the whole team at once would be more convenient, he explained.

Amazingly there had been no fatalities. But the eight mercenaries that sat outside Medics infirmary looked awful, even though the worst of their wounds had already been tended to. Heavy was pale from blood loss and soldier swayed on his feet, though he tried to hide it. Scout's face was a mess and Demoman's jaw was broken, hanging loose. Nobody was killed, but everyone was summoned to see Medic regardless. So Pyro sat playing with his lighter, rarely glancing up. He was the last to be seen and, when Medic appeared at the door, he did not look happy. What's new, thought Pyro.

"You ah ze only member of RED who did not sustain injury of any form today, Pyro. So obviously I did not call you here to heal you." He said once Pyro was seated on a gurney. Medic's voice was flat. "I vas informed by both Soldier und Spy zat you froze up out on ze field today. Is zat true?" Pyro nodded and kept his head low. "Look at me." Medic commanded, and he did. "Did you even _kill_ anyvone today?"

"No." Pyro said, though he shook his head so Medic would understand him.

"I thought not." The doctor sighed. "Ze first thing zat happened vhen I arrived here at RED, vas zat I vas given a detailed file on each of you. It gave me your medical history, for obvious reasons, but it also gave me your legal history." Pyro's blood ran cold in his veins. There was a long pause and he could feel his heart beat violently in his chest.

"Yours," Medic continued "vas completely blank. Zere vasn't even an age or gender marked down for you. Now, I vas informed by ze higha-ups zat I vas not to remove your mask-" Pyros hands flew to his head and Medic held up his own assuringly "and I vont ask you to do zat." He added.

"I can't." Pyro shook his head.

"You see, ze legal history zat RED possess is just collateral." He planted his hands on his hips and waited for Pyro to look up before continuing. "All of our teammates are vanted criminals, Pyro. Myself included. Vhen RED tracked us down, zhey used ze 've vill give you a new identity' bride to ensure zat zhere vere no contract declines. So I have to ask you somzhing." He leaned in to Pyro, whose gaze quickly fell to the floor again. "Have you eva even killed anyvone before?"

The question hung in the air like a bad smell, tainting the room and making Pyro feel unwell. He looked at his toes from where he sat on the gurney and slowly nodded. "Yeah," he kept nodding, his mouth bone dry. "Yeah I've killed before."

"I see." Said Medic. "Gut. Vell, try und apply zat experience on ze field next veek. Ve cannot afford to fight if one of our own are not even contributing, ja?" he forced a smile, though it was more unsettling than comforting.

"Yeah," said Pyro "I'm sorry."

"Did you just apologise?"

Pyro lifted his head. "Yeah, I am sorry, doc."

"Huh." Medic grinned. "You know, I zink zat I am starting to get used to you speaking through zat thing." As quick as it had appeared, the smile was gone. "Now get to your room. Ze next time you are called here, it better be because you ah dying."

"Thanks, Medic." He hopped off and padded away, retrieving his flamethrower from where it leaned up against the infirmary wall. He was far too restless to simply return to his room, and did not want to run into either Soldier or Spy, so he decided a walk around outside the base after dropping off his weapon would have to serve as his relaxant.

It was not that late, but the sun was low in the sky and the air was just lukewarm. Where the sky was normally blue, now it was a grand golden colour that matched the baking sands below it. Walking around the base, Pyro spotted Snipers van and, sitting on a deck chair before it, the owner himself. Next to him was the Engineer and they seemed to be having a drink together, celebrating the victory no doubt. It was Sniper who noticed him, but Engineer who called for him over. Hesitantly, he obliged.

"Feelin' better?" Engie asked. He had his hardhat off and, rather than his goggles, he had a pair of sunglasses to shield his eyes from the dying sun rays. Pyro nodded. Sniper, pushing his bush hat up with his thumb, got a good look at him from behind his own shades before nodding to the rear of his van.

"There's anotha chair at back," he said "ye can grab one if y'like." Pyro did not move a muscle. He just stood, trying to concoct and escape plan. Engie was up in a second, fetching and opening up the rusty white chair and setting it down.

"Come on now," he said warmly "It's all safe, son. So ya had a bad first day."

"Happen's ta the best, mate." Agreed Sniper. Pyro looked at them as they sat, Sniper's long, gangly legs stretched out in front of him and Engie's short legs planted firmly by the legs of the chair. Pyro sat in between them, his legs together. It was not that he did not like the men either side of him. In fact, Engie was the only one who had been nice to him since he arrived. But with his mask on he had no way of communicating with them, which made any form of prolonged interaction rather awkward.

"Hey mutant" said Sniper, his had fishing into the cooler by his feet "ya wont a beer?"

"No thanks." Said Pyro, but Sniper held the beer out and wiggled it, having not understood the decline. He eventually settled back in his own chair and opened it for himself when Pyro didn't take it.

"Ya not roasting t'death in that bloody thing?" he asked.

"Not really," Pyro shrugged "I'm used to it." Sniper didn't reply, but Pyro appreciated his attempt to trade small talk. Engie took a drink of his own beer and smiled out at the shimmering barren lands.

"I can see why ya camp out here, Stretch."

"Yeah," Sniper swigged his beer "Better than bein' cooped up when we ain't fightin'."

The Sniper had been one of the quietest over the first couple of days, clearly choosing to observe his team a little. "Hey," said Pyro. Sniper turned his head lazily, lids low over his tired eyes. Pyro waved at him and gave a little salute. Sniper gave him a confused look, checked over his shoulder to see if there was anyone else he could be waving at, but there wasn't. He looked at Engie, who just smiled and motioned to Pyro with his head encouragingly. Slowly, Sniper lifted his hand and waved back awkwardly. Pyro gave him a thumbs up then turned, looking out over the desert.

"Poor bugger" Sniper muttered to himself. 'Must be slow', he mouthed across to Engineer. The ol' Texan just smiled and patted Pyro on the back.

The next morning as Pyro made his way into the mess hall he walked in on a conversation, or rather an argument, which was headed by none other than Soldier. His voice carried itself through the hallways like a heatwave, hitting anyone approaching and souring their mood. "Come on, son!" he was nudging a rather disinterested looking Sniper as Pyro entered, taking a seat beside Engie. "You should be siding with me here!"

"Why is that again?" said Sniper, looking at the bottom of his empty coffee mug glumly.

"Isn't it obvious?" Soldier pointed at Heavy accusingly "these bastards sent secret agents to kill your president!" Heavy just shook his head at the American. Had he not just woken up, he would have considered arguing. But there was no winning with Soldier.

"Wot?" Sniper grimaced for a moment before realisation dawned on him and he rolled his eyes "Oh, yer talkin' 'bout Holt?" Pyro recalled hearing about Australia's Prime Minister Harold Holt in the newspaper last year, apparently having vanished without a trace.

"'_Disappeared'_ my ass! We all know the soviets are responsible."

"Nyet." Said Heavy "I hear it vas Chinese. In beeg submarine." He massaged his temples groggily.

"Lads," Sniper shook his head "he prob'ly jus' drowned."

"Then why was there no _body_!?" Soldier demanded.

"Christ I dunno, sharks?"

"Or a UFO?" offered Demo, evidently hungover.

"Maybe he killed himself?" said Pyro.

"Yeah," Engineer nodded "I agree. I mean suicide-"

"Wait, wait, hold up toymaker." Soldier put down his mug. "You can understand it?"

"_It_?" Engineer frowned, scratching his chin. "That's awful rude, Soldier."

"Well we don't know what's under there, do we? Since _it_ refuses to take its mask off. Could be a damn Spy under there!" Speaking of Spies, their own was absent from breakfast this morning. "I mean, _it_ could have killed President Holt!"

"Oh for the love of…" Sniper muttered and buried his face in his hands.

"Don't be ridiculous." Engineer's voice grew firm, his patience quickly spending. He did not like rude people. "I'm with the Doc on this, y'all have gotta stop with the insistence that Pyro here take his mask off. I mean, I don't see any of ya bein' so persistent with our Spy to do the same. Besides, he ain't _that_ hard to understand after a while." He shrugged "I can sorta understand 'im now."

"_Really_?" asked Scout, bacon grease around his mouth. Engineer gave him a dark look and the younger man swallowed, shrugging innocently. "Whateva ya say, hardhat." Behind Engineer, Spy entered the mess hall. He was trying to get a spark out of his lighter for the cigarette in his mouth, looking irritated. "Hey Spy!" Scout took this opportunity to change the subject. "What was that movie again, uh, the one 'bout spies and shit?"

Spy glared up, unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. "You'll 'ave to be more specific."

"You know – that one with what's his face? The Scottish guy, or at least I think he was Scottish, an' he was like a spy in it?"

"Sean Connery." Demoman called over, his feet draped over the arm of the couch. "Ye talkin' 'bout Dr. No?"

"Zat awful James Bond movie?" Spy frowned, still trying to tease a flame from his lighter.

"Yeah! Dats the one!"

Pyro walked over to Spy, who eyed him carefully the minute he approached arm's length of him. "Can I help you?" said Spy, his lip curling. Clearly he had not had his morning cigarette yet. Pyro fumbled in one of the little compartments on his belt and pulled out his own lighter, holding it up. The assassin stared between Pyro and the little flame that danced up from his lighter before leaning forward and allowing his cigarette to be lit for him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Pyro waved at him, then headed over to the fridge for a bottle of water. Now that Spy had arrived in the mess hall, he could slip away for a shower.

The wash room was huge, big enough that when the team did shower, nobody had to be directly next to anyone. Pyro wrenched off his mask the second he arrived and began to gulp greedily from the water bottle. His lips had been stuck together with dry skin and his tongue was like sandpaper, so when the water spilled over his chin and dripped down his neck he did not care. After finishing the whole bottle, he went about removing his suit. He was both relieved and afraid, but once the suit was off he had to go about removing the sweat drenched bandages that covered him too, enjoying the blissful feeling of bare feet on cold tiles. There were no mirrors in the shower room, so he wouldn't have to look at his deformity.

After a shower that lasted no longer than about a minute, he was drying off and hurriedly pulling his suit on again. The dampness of his skin made the whole process difficult but he managed, and once he pulled his mask back over his face he was filled with an overwhelming relief. That was not so bad, he thought. He hadn't used soap, but just the water itself had made him feel immaculately clean after so long in his own sweat.

On his way back to the mess hall, Pyro heard voices nearby. At first he decided to ignore what was not his business, but curiosity got the better of him when he recognised Medics scolding tone.

"If it is not scrumpy zen vhy can't I smell it?"

"Because I don't need ta prove meself to you, _doc_, that's why!" the second voice was a rather irritated sounding Demoman. "Am tellin' ye it ain't scrumpy, so ya'll bloody believe it ain't scrumpy!"

"In my line of vork I abide by ze motto 'see it to believe it'" said Medic coolly "Demoman, if you ah getting drunk at nine oclock in ze morning zen it is my job to ask questions."

"It's yer job to heal people, smart arse, no badger me wae stupid bloody questions!" Pyro could imagine Demo pointing in Medics face. "Wot I do in me own bloody time outside a fightin' ain't yer business-"

"Zat is vere you ah wrong. Clearly, I don't need to smell your bottle to know vat is in it – your breath _reeks_ of alcohol." There was a brief pause before Medic continued, sounding more aggressive. "It is my job to make sure zat you ah all fit for vork. Being drunk is _not_ being fit for vork, dummkopf."

"Maybe no where _you_ come from, but back in Scotland we drink to prepare for a fight, no just ta celebrate it!"

"Ve ah not fighting today-"

"Then why are ye sticking yer nose in ma business!?" Pyro rounded the corner quickly, fearing that without intervention the Scot would attack Medic. He did not know who to worry for more.

"Hi guys!" he waved at them "What you doing here?" Medic and Demo looked at one another long and hard before the older German turned bluntly on his heel and stomped away, muttering in German. Demoman watched him go with a one-eyed scowl.

"An' get it up ye!" he called after him, but Medic did not respond. Demo stormed in the other direction, passing Pyro without a word, and headed outside the base to cool down. And drink, apparently. He did, indeed, stink of booze. The clock on the wall read 09:16am.

Today was training, for most, and when Pyro stopped by the gym after breakfast to take a look at the facilities everyone except Spy, Medic and Demo where already there breaking a sweat. "Leetle Scout," Heavy looked over at him, holding a massive weight in one hand. "You are trying too hard."

"Fuck you, tubs." Scout, holding a much smaller weight, was bright red in the face and clearly in no mood for pointers. "I do dis all the time, man!"

"Perhaps." Said Heavy "But you should start vith veight dat is much lighter dan you can do. Vork your way up to heaviest veight." He demonstrated with his own weight, his huge biceps curling up to an impressive bulge of muscle. "You will hurt yourself, leetle man." He warned.

"Shu-Shut up already!" Scouts arm was trembling with effort, sweat dripping from his face in fat beads. "How would you know anyway, pancakes?"

"My coach teach me," said Heavy, ignoring the insult. "Vhen I vas boxer."

"Jeez, jus' stick to your own goddamn-OW!" he dropped the weight and clutched his arm, clenching his jaw. "Ow, ow, ow!"

"Told you" Heavy said quietly, shaking his head. Beyond them was Soldier and the poor mug he had cornered into 'training' – in this case, that mug was Sniper.

"Why do I 'ave t'do bloody push-ups?" he whined "I'm rarely in close range combat!"

"Rarely is not never, dingo-brain!" Soldier was in his white undervest and, like Scout, had a pair of dog tags around his neck. His well-defined arms were covered in scars and dark hair. Next to him, Sniper just looked scrawny. "Now, enough of your sissy-ass excuses! Be a man for once in your life and drop and give me twenty!"

"But-"

"NOW, MAGGOT!" Sniper shot a plea for help at Engineer, who just grinned at him and continued with fixing one of the broken weight machines. Sniper sighed, got to his knees, and then dropped on his hands. "Keep your back straight and that keister down, princess!" he put his boot on the small of Snipers back and pressed down. "C'mon!"

"J-jesus…" Sniper got to ten on shaky arms before he went red and his head hung.

"Your only half way, numbnuts! Come on, ten more! _Eleven_ – _Twelve_ –_Thir_- what the hell was that? Come on! _Thirteeeen_!" Sniper collapsed under the weight of Soldiers boot and began to pant. "You are pathetic, son!"

"Ya- ya had yer bloody … bloody foot on me back!"

"It's called encouragement! Clearly you need more of it, now from the top – move it, maggot!" Pyro observed the scene before him, glad not to be the one in Soldiers sights.

"Please tell me ya ain't plannin' on workin' out in that?" Engie appeared at Pyros side, done with his tinkering. Pyro pointed at his flame retardant chest and chuckled.

"Nah, not today."

"Good, cause it hot enough as it is in here without needin' to imagine what it's like under there." He pulled his belt up with both hands. "I hate to abandon Sniper an' all, but you wanna escape before ol' Solly sees us?" Pyro nodded. Engie guided him down to the infirmary where Medic, obviously, was dissecting a dead hog.

"Uh, Doc?" Medic failed to hear them enter, speaking to himself softly in German, wrist deep in swine guts. "Medic?" Engie said, louder this time. The doctor turned, his face glowing.

"Ah! You ah here, gut. I have amazing news." He pulled his hands free and went to the sink. There was a strange cooing noise surrounding the room which neither Engie nor Pyro could place, until a dove swooped down and landed on Medic's shoulder.

"So … ya gonna bring that pig back ta life?"

"Vat?" Medic looked at the carcass on his table. "Ah, nein, nein zat is a different project. I've just finished ours." he was actually smiling as he spoke, though it only served to be unsettling. He ushered both teammates into the room and fussed over his tools. "Now, I did find vone little error" he waved a hand "but ve can vork around zat."

"What error?"

"Vell, ze device cannot be worn. It must be inserted."

"_Inserted_?"

"In ze chest." Medic clarified.

"Are you tryna say that you're gonna needa perform _surgery_ on us?"

"What?" Pyro asked.

"I am not trying to say, I am _telling_ you. Zis is ze only vay. But ze results will be incomprehensible!"

"What are you two talking about?" said Pyro, looking between them.

"Well," Engie began "The Doc an' I have been workin' on a lil' somethin' called respawn-"

"It vill bring you back to life!" Medic blurted out, his eyes blazing with excitement. "Ve vould nevah lose, every time ve died ve vould just come back – ready to keep fighting!"

"That's impossible." Said Pyro.

"He says it's impossible."

"You von't be saying zat next veek." Said Medic. "I plan to have ze new hearts implanted in everyvone before ze next battle."

"New … new heart?" Pyro felt sick.

"Did ya speak to the Administrator yet?" Engie enquired.

"Just minutes ago. She vas sceptical at first yes, but vonce I sent her all ze notes ve compiled she vas very villing to try it out!"

"That's good, I guess. When will I start workin' on the machine?"

"Tonight of course." Medic said matter-of-fact. "I vill need it completed in a couple of days."

"A couple'a _days_?"

"Ach, you ah like a broke record. Vhat happened to your enthusiasm from last night?"

"It's jus' all a bit fast. I mean this was jus' an idea last night and now it's actually happenin'."

"Thanks to science!" Medic could barely contain himself "Oh Engineer, vat ve can accomplish vhen ve don't vaste time sleeping und eating, it is quite astonishing. Zis is precisely vhy I took zis job." He got up and placed a hand on Pyros shoulder, leading him to the door. A dove pecked curiously at Pyros mask but Medic shooed it away. "Now, ve have a lot of vork to do so don't bother us, bitte."

"H-hey, doc uh…"

"I can't undahstand you-"

"This heart transplant … will I needa take my suit off?"

"He's askin' if he'll needa remove his gear fer the operation?" Said Engie.

"Vell of course!" Medic threw his hands up. "How can I make an incision through zis?" he poked his finger into Pyros chest.

"You can't!"

"He said-"

"I know vat he said!" Medic snapped. "Und I _can_."

"But-"

"Ze higha-ups gave special mention of your mask - zey said nozhing about your suit. I have been patient with you, Pyro, but believe me when I say zat I let nozhing get in the way of my vork. Especially not uncooperative people." Pyro remembered the conversation when Medic mentioned being a wanted criminal, making that last line far more chilling. "You can keep your little mask on, but you vill be getting zat operation just like everyvone else or so help me-"

"Pyro," Engie said in a low voice. "Run along now, I think me and Medic here needa have a little _chat_." Pyro stood rooted to the spot. His knees nearly started to knock. Medic gave him one last warning look, before slamming the door in his face. He could hear the two egg heads arguing inside instantaneously.

He would have to remove his suit? Oh God, he felt queasy. He couldn't breathe. His head began to spin. His deformity, the Medic was going to see it. Pyro staggered back suddenly, as if receiving a blow to the face, and he bolted as fast as he could along the corridor.

_No_, he thought. _He will need to find me first._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Pyro was running down the slippery stairs, his bare feet numb from the cold despite the sweat that covered his body. He could see the flames through every window and hear the screams of those still trapped inside. His heart was hammering into his chest, blood pounding in his ears. All he could taste was ash and blood. Fire was all around him, encaging him, the grass he and his brother used to play on was ablaze, flames consuming and destroying their old swing and incinerating their fathers shed. In a matter of minutes, his childhood was eaten up and spat back out in front of him in a ball of fire. The screams were deafening at first, but then, they were too quiet.

Pyro woke up drenched in sweat. His surroundings were dark, shadowy and unfamiliar. Panic gripped him immediately and squeezed. His eyes darted around the room, his sweaty fingers pawing at his gas mask. Where was he? How did he get here?

That's right.

It had been two days since Medic had told him he would have to remove his suit so the lunatic could surgically implant a new heart into his chest that would prevent him from dying on the battlefield. Now there was a sentence he never thought he'd say. Pyro swallowed deeply and put his masked face in his hands. He had panicked, ran away. Fled to the sewers like some gutter rat. So far, he had been correct in his assumption that his team wouldn't think to look for him here. He would have snuck off of base and ran somewhere, anywhere far away, but he had no car and there had been no train. He was stuck down here in the sewer, where his mind fell prey to his memories every time he closed his eyes.

These were hired killers he was teamed with. What would they do when they found him?

..

"I knew this would happen." Medic was pacing the length of his infirmary angrily.

"You should. You started it." Medic turned to glare at the Texan who was leaning against the wall with his arms folded, his face dark beneath his helmet. The usually affable Engineer, as it turns out, was a force to be reckoned with when he was angry. Medic said nothing, continued to pace.

"Still nothin'." Sniper appeared at the door, binoculars in hand. "If you ask me, he's definitely still on base. I'd have found him out there already if he wasn't. No tracks, no trails, no nothin'."

"It's been two days man," Scout crushed his energy juice can and tossed it into the bin "he's gone AWOL. Let's get a replacement booted up for the next battle already."

"If he's still on base, we should find him eventually." Demoman shook his head "Sniper's a tracker, if he says Pyro's not out in the dessert, then he's not."

"If you are such a good tracker, why 'aven't you found him yet, hm?" Spy eyed Sniper.

Sniper shrugged "Never tracked game in doors before."

"Doctor," Heavy sighed "vhat did you say to Pyro? He did not run off for no reason."

"I vill have this conversation vhen he is found." He removed his glasses to press the back of his hand into his tired eyes. "Alright. Is everyone absolutely sure that their designated areas vere clear?" he was met with nods. "_Absolutely_ sure?"

"He's definitely not in my workshop," said Engie "I pulled that place apart."

"An' no in any of the rooms either." Said Demoman.

"Yeah, and he's not in the infirmary neither." Scout nodded, sure of himself. Medic stared at him.

"Scout. You were supposed to check the sewers."

"Nah, you said you'd check the sewers, told me to check the infirm-"

"Why would I ask YOU to check MY infirmary!?"

"I dunno," Scout scratched his head "but that's what you said." Medic face went a brilliant red colour but he contained himself. Took a few deep breathes and pretended that Scout did not exist. Something he hoped to make a reality in the near future.

"Alright." He said. "The sewers are zhe only place that have not been checked then. So if Sniper is right, then that is zhe only place Pyro can be." Sniper was already walking out the door.

"Let's go catch us a mutant."

..

Pyro was staggering along the slippery walkway of the sewer, trying to calm himself. He had no idea what to do. Medic had said everyone on the team had been in trouble with the law – they were all killers. They all came here to Teufort to earn money by killing. Murderers. Just like him. When they got their hands on him, they'd kill him.

"When I get my hands on the lil' bugger, I'm gonna kill 'im." Sniper sighed as he stood in a nasty smelling patch of mush. Engie chuckled.

"Ya think he's really down here? Not the nicest place on base-" Sniper held a hand up, silencing his colleague.

There, at the end of the tunnel, was the Pyro.

"Pyro?" Engie took a step in that direction. He didn't get any further. Pyro jumped at the sound of his voice and sprinted out of sight without even looking at them.

"Hey!" called Engie, breaking into a run. Sniper overtook him on longer legs and was round the corner first, holding onto his hat as a gust of wind blew through the tunnel. Pyro reached the grate leading out of the sewers and turned left sharply, running for the wooden bridge that led away from the base.

"Stretch, he's spooked!" Engineer was slowing, out of breath. "Don't hurt 'im!" he leaned on the gate, panting.

Sniper was gaining on Pyro. He had subconsciously pulled out his knife, sheer force of habit, and even though he had no intentions of using it on Pyro, when the smaller man risked a glance back and saw it reflecting in the sunlight he shrieked, veering off abruptly and tripping Sniper up. The Australian went down ungracefully, cursing as his knee slammed into the ground. Pyro was running towards the forts exit, heading for the barren wasteland. "Pyro!" most of the team watched him go with wide eyes. Scout shot passed Sniper, having heard the commotion from inside the base. It didn't take long after that.

Scout gained and overtook Pyro, turning to bar his path. "Wow, wow, mumbles, hey-" he held up his hands "chill out man, your fine, nobodies pissed- well the doc is fuckin' furious but c'mon, what's new there, huh?" Pyro tried to get passed, fought against the skinny American lad but it was no good. "Chill, chill, easy…" When the rest of the team caught up, Pyro hung his head in shame. Humiliated. Scout playfully punched his shoulder and grinned.

"Hey there," Engie smiled, still out of breath "where you been, son?" Medic was there before a conversation could commence, but he looked relieved more than anything. Pyro angled himself away from the doctor, anticipating assault.

"Gut," he said "You're alive."

"Hey, Medic…"

"Look, let's not blow zhis out of proportion. Come back inside, we can talk in the infirmary. The mask and suit will stay on, ja?" he made sure not to add 'for now' onto that sentence. Pyro was confused. Weren't they mad at him? He followed Medic inside, receiving pats on the back and reassuring words from his teammates. All except one member, who wasn't present.

..

The Spy was rifling through Pyros personal belongings as the rest of his idiotic team floundered about the masked runt outside. Imbiciles. The lock was easy enough to pick and there was only one desk drawer that wasn't empty so it would be a brief snooping session. At first he thought there would be nothing of interest until he found something crammed down the side of the drawer, hidden by pillow cases.

Gloved fingers curled around and pulled out a bottle. It was small and brown, like a medicinal container. Spy cocked an eyebrow and turned the bottle, holding it up to the lamp light. It was labelled 'Hormones; Male.'

"Testosterone?" he whispered to himself. The little cogs in his head turned and clicked. The door hinges creaked as a presence made itself known. Spy turned slowly to see those black, lifeless lenses staring straight at him – at the bottle in his hand. "Pyro…" a sickening wheezing sound flooded into the room. Pyro stumbled back, lifting his hands to his chest. Her chest? _Their chest?_

"What's goin; on here?" Demoman appeared too, concern in his brown eye as he looked at Pyro, then anger when he noticed Spy. "And jus' what are you doin', Frenchie?"

Spy kept his cool. Part of the job description. He closed his mouth, which had been slack, and looked between Pyro and Demoman carefully. Slowly, he lowered the bottle back into the drawer and closed it shut. "Nothing," he said "I was looking for a lighter, as mine has went missing. Alas, I assumed Pyro would have a spare." He shrugged, making to leave "apparently not."

"Skulkin' aboot in other peoples private spaces. Yer a creep boyo, y'know that?"

Spy ignored Demoman, his attention firmly on Pyro as he passed him in the hall. He stopped, leaned forward and, for the briefest of moments, pity flashed in his icy blue eyes. "Just because there is no lighter there, doesn't make you any less of a pyro, yes?" He grinned, walked away.

"Ye alright laddy?"

Pyro nodded "yeah," he said "I think so."

"Dunnae let that frog git to ya. He's a Nancy."

Pyro bid Demo a goodnight and locked his bedroom door behind him, slumping against it. What a day. What a few days, even. He was exhausted, every bone and muscle ached. His head pounded. He went to his drawer and pulled out his hormones, staring at the bottle numbly.

Medic had agreed to let Pyro off on the surgery (Engineer's gripping hand on his shoulder most likely the only reason) but after Spy having found out his _problem_, he honestly didn't even know if that would matter anymore.

He collapsed onto his bed and was consumed by flames once again.

..

_Authors Note:_

_This chapter is, clearly, a lot shorter than the previous ones. I took a bit of a break for a while and wanted to post an update tonight to show that I'm not dead or anything. This story will continue, and the chapters will return to a longer length in the future. Thanks to those reading, hope you enjoy what's to come – Des_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The Engineer looked down at his paunchy belly and sighed, running a hand over his bald head. He wasn't a vain man, but sometimes life just seemed to run away and he'd find himself standing, the years flying by and the signs of age sneaking up on him and taking him by surprise. He'd been a real ladies man in his younger days. Slim with sandy blond hair and a strong arms, though short. He and his buddies would take some beer up to the lake when the weather was right for it and watch the local girls dip their feet in and giggle. By the time the first six-pack was done, the boys had gained enough courage to approach and offer the girls a drink and they'd smile and accept, and Engie would get out his guitar and swoon them right off their feet.

He smiled fondly at one memory in particular. A comely young lady had stolen his heart one hot day at the lake, and he'd went right on up to her and told her so. She had blushed and laughed, then pulled him gently into a barn. They'd tumbled in the hay with the kind of unrestrained desire that only curious teenagers seem to possess, only to be interrupted by the girl's father – who also turned out to be Engies boss. Course the boss man didn't approve, but hell that didn't stop Engie from eventually marrying his daughter.

The smile fell from Engies face. That was a lifetime ago. His wife had since left him and took the dog and all of his money with her. After the police had come to question him about the murder, he knew he had to go into hiding. Thank God for this job.

"Lost in thought?" Engie turned, startled.

"I'd rather be lost in work but," he spread his arms "guess I'm a lil' distracted." Heavy nodded, a slender file in his hand.

"Doctor wanted me to give you this." He handed over the file "is more, what was word? _Additions_, I think."

"More?" Engie felt his energy melt away "I'll never complete the darn thing if he keeps on changin' his formula like this." Heavy just shrugged and turned to leave, but then paused.

"The doctor, he tell me that we are going to be opened up," he patted his massive chest "get implant."

"Yeah, that's the plan."

"Will it work? This machine?"

"Well I'm building it," Engie gave a reassuring smile "'So course it'll work." That seemed enough to satisfy the Russian who nodded again and took his leave. Engie opened the file and scanned the contents with a frown. He restrained a yawn through gritted teeth and dropped the file on the workbench, covering his face with a hand. He noticed the oil on his hand, knew he'd just smeared it all over his face. He sighed again.

"You're crazy doc," he wiped sweat from his brow "I jus' hope you're the good kinda crazy."

..

The Spy sat in his room sipping a large glass of dry red and reading The Wall by Jean-Paul Sartre. He tried to immerse himself in it, had read it before and enjoyed it, but found himself distracted. The Pyro. The hormones. Perhaps he had jumped to conclusions. He could have assumed the worst.

The Pyro was a freak that much was clear, so it was possible that he just found the bottle and kept it for no reason – it didn't mean he took the testosterone himself. _Herself_? Pyro wouldn't take the mask or suit off. Not even within the safety of his own base and in the company of his own team mates had he dared. Something wasn't right; he was definitely hiding something. But what?

Spy looked at his watch, made a face. Having a few days off between battles sounded appealing initially, but when your teammates are on the lower end of the social spectrum it's harder to enjoy their company. He pulled out the files he had stolen from Medic's office yesterday, thumbed through them. The doctor was careful, but there was no secrets from the Spy.

His eye's swept over the legal history of his teammates and a mischievous smile pulled at his lips. _What a colourful bunch_. Tavish Finnegan DeGroot, or the Demoman, had been sentenced to fifteen years for manslaughter in 1959 but had served only a third of his sentence before being released. Unfortunately there were no further details. Pity, Spy loved details. Dell Conagher, the Engineer, had been sentenced to twelve years in 1955 for murder but was released after less than eight for good behaviour. Spy couldn't imagine the friendly, cheery Texan in prison.

Spy snorted as he picked up Soldiers file, which required both hands due to its weight. "Barrister Jane Doe." he laughed "really?" _Jane_ had served a year for the illegal position of weapons in 1941, and was arrested again in '49 for robbery, for which he done six months. This was after he'd went on a one-man rampage for being rejected from the military due to 'questionable mental stability'. He served a further two years for felonious assault in '52 before finally being arrested and sentenced to fifteen years for murder. Spy smirked at the thought of Soldier getting out of prison, only to immediately take a job as a hired killer with RED. "Reformed, indeed." He picked up another file.

Michael Mundy, the Sniper, had been smart enough to avoid detection for any of his previous sniper jobs. His history consisted mainly of short prison spells for possession of marijuana and a single eighteen month sentence for smuggling back in '54. _Mon Dieu_, thought Spy, _the man had been a hippy hadn't he?_ Not a surprise, really. Mikhail Veselovsky, the Heavy, had spent time at a Gulag and then served six years of a ten year sentence for manslaughter in 1960. For men currently working as hired guns, a lot of them had been granted early releases, Spy thought to himself.

Much to his dismay the Medic had destroyed his own file, having found no reason in keeping it (likely due to having such a man as Spy around) Clever, he conceded. The Pyro's file was practically bare. No name, age, gender, no legal history, though Spy didn't doubt there should be a few arson charges there. His own file, to his chagrin, had detailed some of his earlier illegal activities, but only the ones committed under the alias he had been going by at the time. He had almost immediately followed the Medic's lead and destroyed his file. No need for anyone else seeing it.

He noticed one last file on the table that must have escaped his attention. He picked it up and read the name; Scout. Being at least a decade younger than the other mercs, Spy had assumed that Scout would possess the thinnest file. He was wrong. After getting out of juvenile detention, the Scout had been sentenced for several assault charges. His longest sentence was for robbery, which he served time for between 1964 and 1967. From a rough area and even rougher family, Spy noted.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts and he looked over at it accusingly for disturbing him. "Yes?" he quickly tucked the files away in a drawer. There was a quiet, muffled response followed by more rapping. He would have shouted 'come in' to save himself from getting up but he always locked doors behind him. Force of habit. "Who is it?" more muffled words. The Pyro, then. He opened the door slowly, almost expecting to be met with the nozzle of a flamethrower for his earlier snooping. Pyro said something, twiddled his fingers and looked around. Spy stared back. "Can I help you?"

Pyro nodded and then slid around the Spy, into the room. "Yes, please come in." Spy closed the door. "I hope you're not 'ere for conversation, mon ami, because I cannot understand a word you say." Pyro stayed still for a moment, looked around the room as if making a decision. Then, very slowly, he lifted his hands to the fastening of his gas mask and began to undo them with shaky fingers.

..

The Scout was running laps around the base, more for the distressing effect than the fitness of it. He had waited until the peak of day had passed so he wouldn't overheat before pulling on some old running gear and heading out. Running was cathartic for Scout, it always had been. Growing up on the south side of Boston he could rarely go running in the city without finding trouble due to being his brothers' brother. He had seven older brothers, six of whom were notorious fight-pickers. Thugs, even. Scout was often mistaken for his brother Louis and attacked (Louie was a bit crazy) but he had learned how to handle himself. His second eldest brother, Marty, was the good one. Marty was a graduate student at Boston University, the first in the family to make it there and his family were proud. His Ma was just glad that one of her boys had stayed out of the criminal life. While Scout and the others cheated, stole and fought their way about the city, Marty wanted nothing more than an honest job and to marry his childhood sweetheart, Beverly, maybe have a couple of kids. Bev was a graduate student in music at the same university as her boyfriend and the pair seemed to be moving upwards.

Clouds covered the sun above him and Scout's adrenaline began to pump. He increased his speed and began to sprint around the base as fast as he could, sweat beginning to gather on his forehead.

In May of '63, Scout arrived home from a run to find his mother and a few brothers looking on edge. "It's Bev," they'd said "she'd dead." Scout didn't know what to say. He had liked Beverley, but found himself more concerned for Marty. He'd asked how she died, and been told that she'd been found stabbed and strangled to death. Marty had found her, called the police, and then disappeared.

"Disappeared?" Scout swallowed "What d'ya mean _disappeared_?"

"Nobody's seen him since he called in about Bev," said his ma, sniffling and dabbing her mascara streaked face. "We don't know where he is." Scout had the words on the tip of his tongue and they very nearly slipped out. '_You don't think he did it'_ he wanted to say, but he never. Marty wouldn't, he was the only brother who wouldn't. They all knew it.

Darting round the base and passing the entrance for a second time, Scout's legs and chest burned like hot coals but he kept up his speed, the breeze doing little to cool him. He was panting loudly, his mouth and throat like sandpaper.

Marty had eventually shown up, a few days later. The police had called upon his Ma to inform her that he had been arrested. Scout had went berserk. Marty loved Bev, he had screamed, he didn't freakin' kill her!

"No," his Ma had said "he didn't."

"Then why has he been arrested!?"

"Because he found the guy who did it."

And he had. Marty had disappeared to find one of his brother's rivals, a fiend named Ronnie Bochicchio who had tried to kill two of Scouts brothers the previous year. He had come on to Bev at a bar a few weeks ago and, when rejected, he flew into a rage and hit her. She had told Marty and he and his brothers had found a few of Ronnie's cronies and beaten them senseless. It was a feud that Scout knew would grow bloody. But not like this. Marty had found Ronnie the day after he'd found Bev and had beaten him to death with a hammer. He then called the police and turned himself in. No university, not honest career, no marriage or kids with Beverley. And Marty had been the good one.

Scout staggered to a stop, doubling over to push his hands into his trembling knees. He spluttered and panted, his face burning red with effort. He was spent. After getting his breath back, he made his way back to the base, passing Soldier on the way.

"That's some good running, son." He nodded approvingly, a fat cigar hanging from his lips "the vigour of youth, that's what that is."

"Yeah," Scout wiped his brow "will be good to get back out there to kill some BLUs." Soldier nodded, eyes obscured by his helmet.

"One fight a week," he spat "I thought this job would be a _challenge_."

"Hey," Scout scratched his arm "Doc says he's workin' on somethin' pretty big for the fight on Monday. Know what it is?"

"Ha!" Soldier took a drag on is cigar "that Nazi bastard will probably have some kind of sick experimentation in mind."

"Nah," Scout shook his head. "He's freakin' loopy but, I don't think he'll cut us open or nothin'."

"Your young," said Soldier "You'll learn."

..

"I'm going to cut you open." Medic announced, smiling. "But it'll be painless. Kind of." Soldier looked over at Scout with a _told you so_ face, the lad looked queasy. The entire team had collected in the Infirmary, having been summoned by the doctor via the speakers that dotted the bases walls.

"Uh, doc?"

"Yes, Engie?"

"Remember what we talked about?" he laughed nervously "about puttin' it gently?"

"Oh." Medic waved a hand "They're fine." Engie turned to look at his pale, ill looking teammates. Demoman was swaying a little, but that could have been the scrumpy.

"I only have one question." Said Sniper "What's the chances of ya killin' us?"

"Only about 45%."

"I'm out." Scout threw his hands up and turned to leave but he was grabbed by Heavy.

"Hear Doctor out."

"He's fuckin' crazy, man!"

"Give 'im a chance, son." Engie pleaded, though he didn't disagree.

Medic explained to them with unnecessary enthusiasm and uncomfortable detail the procedure, about Engineers work, about the Administrators approval and about, and he stressed this point, the fact that they would be virtually immortal. Nobody said they wouldn't go through with it, but brief, hesitant nods were all Medic got in response to his question.

"So ve are all in, ja? Gut. Now, off you go. I'll start on Monday," he gestured to Heavy "With you, I should think." The team made to leave, but Spy remained. Once it was just the two of them, Medic turned, expectant.

"I 'ave a message for you." Said Spy, sparking a cigarette. "From Pyro."

"…yes?"

"He 'as agreed to go through with the operation under one condition."

"Which vould be?"

"You 'ave to help him with his … problem," Spy smiled "surgically."

..

Heavy finished his sandwich, though he was still hungry. He moved to the fridge and pulled it open causing the pickle jars and milk bottles to clink together. The weekend's supply of food was very little for nine men, but a shipment was arriving tomorrow so Heavy helped himself to what was left. Although most of his mass was muscle, he had gained a lot of fat since entering middle age. His arms and legs were all muscle, but his gut had started to roll over his belt. He ate a protein rich diet with lots of meat, fish and vegetables, though had to concede that his love of potatoes, cheese and sandwiches was excessive. He didn't like sweets, hadn't eaten chocolate since he was a boy but loved fruit. His favourite treat was chopping up several bananas, apples and pears, drizzling them with honey and covering them in strawberries and blueberries. He could eat bowl after bowl of it and never get sick of it. He took a block of cheese from the fridge, grabbed a paw-full of grapes from the fruit bowl and returned to his seat.

As a boy he'd been big, but the soldiers had been bigger. His father had been shot, execution style, right in front of the family. His mother had collapsed with a horrible scream tearing from her throat as his baby sister Zhanna, who had been just a toddler at the time, blinked at her father's motionless body, wondering why he wasn't getting back up. Heavy was only sixteen, but he was already nearing six foot tall. He grabbed his sisters Yana and Bronislava and shielded them behind himself. He glared at the gunmen – daring them to approach.

They took the threat and told Heavy that if he cooperated, nobody else would have to die. The boy had stared at his father's bloody corpse, tears leaking from his blue eyes as every fibre in his body roared – demanding that he kill these bad men. Tear them apart with his bare hands. But as his mother and little sisters sobbed and clung to him, he knew he couldn't. He couldn't protect them if he were dead. They were shipped off to a Gulag in north Siberia, were they spent years in fear. It was his time there that told Heavy who his enemy was – man.

Heavy stared down at his grapes, shook his head. That was a long time ago. Twenty seven years ago. Things had moved on, his family were safe and he was earning more than enough money to send back to them to be comfortable. Life was good. He popped a few grapes into his mouth. He had dealt with that Gulag and those bad men anyway.

"Hey big guy," Engie took a seat in front of him, a bacon and egg sandwich in hand "what a day, huh?"

Heavy hadn't even heard the stout man entering the mess hall, too caught up in his head. "Da. Will be good to fight again."

"A sentiment shared by most of the others, it seems." Engie opened a beer. "Everyone's tense. Want a beer?"

"No, thank you." He took a bite of cheese. "You are not looking forward to work?"

"Work? Heck yes. But the fightin'? That's jus' part of the package really, not my reason for being here or nothin'." Heavy nodded in understanding. Engie was an educated man, had went to university, the Heavy knew. He was here to expand more on his various machines and thinga-ma-bobs. Heavy didn't know a lot about gadgets and devices, but he knew plenty about guns.

"You built machine that will bring us back to life?"

"Yeah. Couldn't have done it without the doc though. He's a lot of things, Medic is, but a layabout ain't one of them. He's managed to create things I never even thought were possible. His medi-gun in itself, it defies everythin' I thought was law. Yet, he's used it to just-" He shook his head, holding up his hands for emphasis "it's just amazing."

"My mama, she says that there is fine line between genius and madness." Heavy grinned.

"Wise words, if ever there were any."

"Hey," Scout appeared, checking the fridge before opening a nearby cupboard and grabbing some chocolate biscuits. "What's happenin' fellas?" he turned the radio on before plopping into a seat, Jim Reeves voice now filling the room with 'Welcome to my world'.

"How old are you Scout, if you don't mind me askin'?"

"uh twenty three, twenty four in like five months though."

"Right." Engie offered him a bottle. "Want a beer?"

"Hell yeah," he took it. "Hey, wait a minute. Hold up. Where you not gonna gimme a beer If I was under twenty one?"

"Well I wouldn't have stopped you from taken one." Said Engie "But I wouldn't have offered you one, no."

"Dude, we kill people for a livin' and you're checkin' the legal age? Really?"

"My momma brought me up right." He grinned. Heavy laughed

"Da, must listen to Mama, little Scout."

"You guys can't have Ma's anymore, I mean what are ya like 60 or somthin'?" the two older men laughed, taking no offence. After a quick bite to eat, everyone called it a night and returned to their rooms. Medic hadn't eaten in two days, but he had drank enough coffee to keep himself awake for a week. He was buzzing with excitement, the conversation he'd had with Spy still fresh in his mind.

The Pyro had asked if Medic would surgically make him a man, as he had been born biologically female. It was glorious for Medic, it had been so long since he'd had a patient on his table _voluntarily_. He knocked on the Pyros door, entering before being invited in.

"Pyro, I have spoken to zhe Spy," he pushed his glasses up his nose "und I agree. I vill help you." The Pyro looked at him, head cocked in thought. He pulled his gloves off and then brought his thin, nail-bite fingers to his mask. He tugged it off with effort. He kept his head down, shock his sweaty hair out of his eyes and then looked up, his intense, brown eyes meeting Medics.

"I," the voice was raspy, masculine due to the testosterone "was hoping you'd say that." He smiled sheepishly and Medic smiled back.

"When vould you like to begin?" Pyro, his face feminine and sharp but with awkward, patchy facial hair, bit his lip.

"Tonight?" Medic's smile stretched.

"I vas hoping you vould say that."

..


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Demoman paced the length of his small, stuffy room and cursed under his breath. He had seen Medic watching him ever since their confrontation concerning his 'drinking problem'. Medic had an authoritarian look about him, just a glance from the German equated to him screaming 'you're a disappointment!' but Demo was a grown man, he didn't have to explain himself to that sadist. He brought his bottle to his lips, paused, and then dropped his arm again. "Jesus Christ." He continued to pace. The truth was, Demoman was ashamed of his drinking. His mother never approved, as his father had been a drinker and an aggressive one. A violent one. Then again, the blood-lust fuelled him and served him well in his line of work. He slumped down into a chair and ran a hand down his face, dragging his eye patch down. His mind raced when he was sober. He thought of the loving couple that adopted him, what he did to them, of the accident that cost him his eye. Of his birth father. He brought the bottle back up to his lips and began to gulp greedily.

A few hour later he stumbled down to the mess hall where Soldier was eyeing the breadbin suspiciously. "Wha ye doin', man?" Soldier didn't move.

"Biding my time, Demoman. Biding my time." Demo looked between Soldier and the breadbin, swaying in his feet.

"Fer what?"

"War, my friend." Soldier turned, pulling a cigar from his jacket. "We return to work tomorrow. We will be victorious!"

"Aye." He burped "Somthin' wrong wae the bread?"

"I don't trust it. Medic put it in there, you know. It's probably drugged to the high heavens with some rapey concoction to knock us out so he can experiment on us."

"Wha would 'e needa drug us if we alla-agreed ta the opre-operation?"

"I have no idea what you just said son, but I'm leaving now." Soldier marched off, throwing one last glance over his shoulder at the breadbin.

"For once, zhat's not because his brain is scrambled." Demo stumbled and turned to glare at Medic, who was standing with his hands behind his back, in his immaculately pressed coat. "You are vorse zhan normal this morning. Is everything alright?"

"You." Demoman pointed a finger in the doctor's vicinity. "You're a right prick, so ye are."

Medic's expression remained impassive. "So you've said. I just wanted to tell you zhat the first operation vill be tomorrow before the battle. I have you scheduled in to be the day after. Vould it be at all possible for you to stay _sober_ for zhen?"

"Fuck off."

"If you are drunk." Medic's face reddened. "You will rise the chances of you dying on my table. Dramatically."

"Donnae act like tha' would bother ye."

"Though I'm not inclined to pretend zhat I like you, your dying would bother me as I'm being paid to keep you alive, and I take my job seriously." He looked Demo up and down, lip curling in disgust. "Unlike some." He did not anticipate the bottle in time and it smashed at his feet, covering his clean coat in foul smelling scrumpy.

"I should kill ye!" Demoman grabbed Medic by the collar and yanked him close, their noses almost touching. Medic struggled on his tip-toes but was no physical match for the enraged Scot, who he only just at that moment noticed had very broad shoulders. "Ya think yer so bloody clever don't ya!?"

"Your breath iz making me gag!" Medic squeezed his eyes shut when Demoman lifted his fist, but no blow came. He opened one eye slowly to see Sniper, a hand curled around Demomans wrist.

"S'enough mate," he shook his head. "Doc's jus' doin' his job." Demoman wrenched his arm free from sniper, shoved Medic back, and glared at them both with his glazed over eye. He swayed like a cobra.

He pointed in Sniper face. "You're jus' as bloody bad, ye freak." He spat. When Sniper gave no rebuttal, he stormed out of the room, swearing as he went.

"Thank you," Medic fixed his tie. "Zhat could have gotten ugly."

"We're workin' tomorrow. Let's save the fightin' for then." Sniper walked over to the counter and began making a pot of coffee. He had his vest off for once, and Medic realised that he was much skinnier than he usually appeared. "Y'want a cup?"

"Please." Medic sat down at the table and massaged his temples.

"Mornin' boys." Engineer entered, looking over his should as he did so. "What's wrong with Demo?" The Scot had nearly shouldered him as they passed one another in the hallway, ignoring Engie's attempts to be friendly.

"He's a dangerously unstable alchoholic." Said Sniper "An' he nearly gave Medic a beatin'."

"You two still not seeing eye to eye?" Engie joined Medic at the table, concern creasing his face.

"I doubt ve ever vill. But tolerate, perhaps one day." Sniper brought over three cups of coffee and sat, supressing a yawn.

"Thanks, stretch." Engie brought his cup to his lips to blow on it.

"So how's our boy Pyro?" Sniper asked into his own mug, sipping without waiting for the brew to cool. Engie cocked an inquisitive brow.

"He's fine, he'll need to recuperate for a while though, so he will not be able to fight tomorrow."

"Why, what happened?"

Medic smiled. "Sorry, Engie. Doctor patient confidentiality."

. .

Pyro opened his eyes to see a dove sitting on his forehead, blinking down at him. Its little white face was puffy and its beady eye's reflected the room's bright lights. He lifted an arm to shoo it but that caused a great ache to run over his chest. He slowly placed both hands on his bandages and felt a rush of excitement when the surface was flat. His breasts were gone, a weight literally off his chest. He propped himself delicately up on his elbows and lifted the blankets covering him. He couldn't feel a thing _down there_, but he was heavily bandaged.

"Do you want to see?" an unseen voice asked.

"… Medic?"

"No." Spy appeared at the foot of the bed below the 'No Smoking' sign, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was holding a small mirror. "Though I did have to disguise myself as 'im to get passed zhe Heavy." He looked smug.

"Medic says I can't fight tomorrow." He indicated the tubes entering his arm and chest.

"Seeing as you can barely move, that's understandable. You're very lucky that Medic 'as zhe technology that he has, most people in your situation would be house-bound for weeks. You can return to work in a few days." He flicked ash on the floor, taking no notice of the dove ruffling its feather beside him.

"I know," Pyro sat up with more effort than he wished it required "Can I?" he indicated the mirror in Spy's hands. Slowly, Spy approached him, turning the mirror. Pyro stared at it for a long moment, but hours passed in his mind. He stared at his reflection as if hypnotised, even though he was covered in bandages, he saw what he'd been wishing for all his life. Thirty long years, and he was finally here. When he burst into tears, Spy put an arm on his trembling shoulder and smiled.

"Congratulations," said Spy "It's a boy!" he cackled loudly as Pyro went bright red, wiping his nose on his wrist. Spy wasn't so bad after all.

. .

"We're one fella short boys, but we can beat these BLU scoundrels regardless!" The countdown to the battle had started and Engineer was trying to get the team going. "Y'all ready?"

"Whoa, wait, where's Heavy?" asked Scout, mouth full of gum as his eyes scanning the room.

_Four_

"An' the doc, he's not here either!" added Soldier.

_Three_

"Damn, they must still be in the infirmary!"

_Two_

"You said they'd be back by now!"

_One_

"Guess I was wrong…" and the gate to the battlefield shot open.

"Attaaack!" Soldier raced out as the rest of his team hesitated, apparently now oblivious to his missing comrades. Scout looked uneasily over at Sniper, who just shrugged at him.

"Yer tellin' me tha' we're fightin' with a squad three men down!?" Demo shouted over the gunfire. "We'll all bloody die oot there!" Spy materialised behind him with his knife in hand.

"Best get to it zhen, hm?" and he disappeared again, the smell of smoke dissipating.

"But without Heavy and Pyro on the front lines-"

"Enough talk," Sniper spat a wad of phlegm at his feet "let's go win this thing before Soldier gets himself killed." Scout grit his teeth and shot out of the gates, passing Soldier and ducking to avoid the bullets hailing down at him from the BLU side. It was madness out there as smoke filled the sky, causing the sun to hide and a darkness to fall over the two teams.

When the BLUs caught on that they were at a quantitive advantage they pressed forward, savagely backing the REDs up against their own walls. Sniper was chased from his nest by the BLU Spy, who slashed him across the face with his knife, just missing his eye. "Stupid bloody Spies…"

An explosion sent Scout flying through the air, and he smashed into the window of the base, sliding down it limply as he passed out. Demoman too, was knocked clean out – sent face first into the dirt by the BLU Soldiers rocket.

"We need ze Medic out here!" Spy shouted over the commotion as the BLU Sniper sent an arrow into his knee. "Merde!"

"This is bad…" Engie had to abandon his sentries and was now squatting behind a boulder with Sniper as the BLUs rained an endless onslaught of bullets and rockets their way. He had his shotgun in hand, but there was so much smoke in the air that he could barely see his attackers.

"We're gonna bloody die if we don't do somthin' quick, truckie."

"Yer tellin' me." There was an explosion behind them as a rocket fell and the earth beneath their feet shook. But then, over the sound of the commotion, was a booming, familiar laughter.

"I am bulletproof!" Heavy, they couldn't believe their eyes, was marching right through the battlefield - apparently immune to the bullets. Engineer and Sniper gaped in shock as Heavy, who was glowing brilliantly, pressed on further and further. Behind him was the Medic, the bright light emitting from his medi-gun and an insane, Cheshire smile on his face.

"Fully charged!" Heavy seemed to mow through the BLUs as if they were unarmed children, and literally stood atop a pile of their bodies. It was a horrifyingly impressive sight to behold as he continued to dominate the BLUs as if swatting flies from a picnic.

"RED VICTORY!"

"Ve win Doktor!"

"Ze operation vas a complete success!" he laughed like a lunatic and waved his arms, beckoning his team to come out of hiding. The whole of RED erupted into cheer once astonishment passed, nearby Scout struggled to his feet and peered up with the eye that wasn't swollen shut.

"Scout!" Medic waved him over "You ah next!"

. .

"Boo." Sniper had been sharpening his kukri when the Spy had appeared behind him, leaning over to see his own reflection in Snipers aviators.

"What d'you want, Spook?" Sniper continued with his work, not looking at him.

"What do I want? Such a curious question. Well, winning the lottery wouldn't go amiss."

Sniper scoffed. "Don't look like ya need any more money. Bloody, fancy suit in the desert." He shook his head.

"Looks can be deceiving, convict. While I most certainly 'ave more money than zhe likes of you, if that shabby van you live in is of any indication." Sniper didn't bite the bait, so Spy continued. "I look the way I do because I make myself look this way. A rich man can look poor, and a poor man can look rich."

"But yer not poor."

"No, though my company is."

"Hysterical."

Spy nodded in agreement before lighting up a cigarette. "Why live in a van when, surly, you must make at least enough for even a small house?"

"None of yer business." He began to sharpen the blade of his kukri with more urgency.

"It's called pleasant conversation, Bushman, you should try it sometime."

"Yer callin' me poor and insultin' me home. Not very _pleasant_ where I come from."

"No, where you come from bare-knuckle fighting and growing copious amounts of body hair is 'pleasant', yes?" he blew smoke down onto Sniper, who still hadn't looked at him.

"Never found either to me tastes, actually."

"Indeed. You are a very peculiar Australian." At that Sniper stopped working his blade and looked up, his eyes dark behind his lenses. Then he got up, and made to leave the work shop. "Apologies, is that a sensitive issue?" Spy grinned behind his cigarette.

"Jus' drop it."

"Oh but how can I now that I know it bothers you?" But Sniper had already left.

. .

Medic dropped his coat onto the back of his chair and yawned. Finally, after days of continuous work, the exhaustion was beginning to take its toll. He often burnt himself out like this after spending long stretches of time obsessing over a project, but in middle age the period of time which he needed to recover was increasing.

Respawn had been a screaming success. He had operated on Heavy and Scout, so tomorrow he would get Demoman and Soldier fitted up. His eyes began to drift closed when, from the infirmary, he heard a rattle and then hushed swearing. Surely none of his moronic teammates could be injured already? He'd just spent hours fixing them up.

"I will kill whoeva…" he rubbed his face as he got up. He opened the infirmary door only to find the light off.

"Who's there?" he flicked the light switch on and, there in the middle of the room, picking up spilled syringes, was the Demoman. "Can I help you?" Medic was in no mood for the Scots abuse.

"Nah I, sorry I'm jus' leavin'." Demo scooped all the syringes up and dumped them in the tray. Clumsily, he plopped the tray onto the nearest surface and quickly made for the door. "Sorry-" he muttered quietly as his foot hit a table leg, causing a few papers to float to the floor from their shaky pile.

"Wait, Demoman." Hesitantly, Demo paused and turned. "Vhat vere you looking for?"

"Nothin' doc, jus' eh, wanderin'."

"Vandering?"

"Aye, sorry, I'll get outta yer hair." Medic was taken aback not only by Demoman's apologetic tone, but by the fact that he seemed relatively sober. At this time of the evening too.

"Vait," he stepped forward holding a hand out imploringly. "Please."

"I didn't mean ta disturb ye."

"You didn't. But you also didn't come down here just to 'vander'. Tell me vhy you're here."

"I-" Demo's good eye darted about for escape, but found none. "Shit. Alright, but don't laugh in me face or nothin'. I wis comin' down to…"

"Yes?"

"Wis comin' to apologise, Medic." The doctor couldn't hide the sheer surprise on his face, which only caused Demoman to feel more embarrassed. "Ye've only ever tried to help me out doc, an' I've been a right nasty prick to ye."

"You have."

"But I do appreciate what ye've done, even if you're a complete, raving lunatic. So, I'm sorry." Medic couldn't help but smile and he crossed his arms.

"Thank you, Demoman. I know zhat was not easy for you." Demo nodded. "You should never be ashamed to use your vords you know, it takes a bigger man to apologise than to raise his fists."

"Not where I come from."

"Yes, vell, zhis is vhy we all lock horns? The nine of us come from very different places. We must learn to tolerate one another, if nothing else."

"S'true." Demo forced a smile. "Can I go now?" he indicated to the door.

"Yes, but …" Medic considered his words for a while. "Listen, your drinking is still a problem Demoman. If you ever want to talk, you're welcome to come down and find me. When you're sober."

"Right, cheers mate." Demoman nodded. "See ya."

"Good night." Medic closed the door behind him and fell onto his bed, kicking his shoes off. Exhaustion took over before he could even remove his day clothes, and for the first time in weeks Medic fell into a deep, comfortable sleep.

The administrator watched Medic fall asleep on one of her many screens and an evil smile pulled at her lips. Her little game pieces seemed so human sometimes.

"Yes, you must be very tired my poor, hard-working Medic." She chuckled. "Miss Pauling!"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"You have the disc detailing all of the RED team's notes on this 'Respawn' system?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good." She smiled. "Send it to the BLU Engineer."

. .


End file.
